


The Golden Age

by steelrose



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tudor Era, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Myrcella is a Baratheon, No Incest, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-11-07 04:50:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelrose/pseuds/steelrose
Summary: The War of the Roses ended with the pretender King Renly being defeated on the battlefield, and King Robb being crowned by right of conquest. Lords rallied to his cause, but only because he promised peace that would end all conflict between the Yorks and Lancastrians. Myrcella Baratheon knew that should Robb Stark win, she would be Queen of England. She is called to court to do her duty, even as her mother whispers poison into her ear. Meanwhile, Daenerys, the newly appointed Royal Duchess of Clarence leaves her childhood home in France, to join her husband, the King’s cousin in England to help the family navigate the unruly waters of court. While Margaery, the pretender’s Queen, is wed to Edmure Tully, Duke of Suffolk, in hopes of appeasing her noble family and staunching the threat of sudden rebellion against the fragile kingdom.Follow the stories of the three most influential women in this English Court: Myrcella of York, Daenerys of Clarence and Margaery of Suffolk.





	1. The Young Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This is my new baby because I am weak for the War of the Roses. I've never told a story from the perspectives of three different characters, so I hope that you enjoy it. The first chapter is setting the scene, you'll find out more about the history as time goes on. 
> 
> I have made a family tree which admittedly took me hours to do. But it explains how everyone is entwined and helps to set the scene for where we are now: https://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g257/medicisalviati/lineofkingsupdated_zps289cvyxl.png
> 
> For those who read ‘The Weirwood Tree’, an update will be coming within the next few days.

**NOVEMBER, 1485**

**MYRCELLA, PRINCESS OF YORK**

**SHERIFF HUTTON CASTLE** **  
** There was a flurry of movement around her, gowns were shoved hastily into trunks as her mother ordered around her two younger sisters, Joanna and Roslin. She remained frozen, gaze fixed on the wilted white roses which had shrivelled up in the gardens. A firm hand gripped her arm, pulling her from the spell which she found herself under. It was her mother’s fierce gaze which met her own, anchoring her for the first time in months. Ever since news reached her ear of Uncle Renly’s death, she had been forced to resign herself to the fact that her marriage to the monster Robb Stark was to happen. Her Lady mother had forged an agreement with Lady Catelyn, the usurper’s mother, to keep her safe. After the loss of Joffrey and Tommen, Cersei refused to see any more of her children fall - Myrcella could not resent her mother for that.

Following the death of the beloved King Robert, the country had been crippled by uncertainty for years. She knew that the love between her mother and father had always burned brightly, and her ambitious mother was left heartbroken by his untimely death. He was supposed to bring about their golden age, it was a dream which the two had shared. Myrcella knew this because Cersei had told her so, she was always her mother’s favourite daughter. The twins Joanna and Roslin, while beautiful, were self-absorbed and spiteful. She had little patience for them.

“Have courage my daughter, you are a lion and you will not cower,” Cersei whispered to her while pressing a kiss to the top of her golden hair. Joanna, who seemed to have stopped filling up the trunks with their gowns in an act of protest, huffed at her. “You should not fret at all! They say that the King is handsome. Perhaps, dear sister, he shall like me better and make me his queen,” she announced, twirling around in her long lilac skirts. The ease with which her sister disregarded her uncle was unpalatable. Joanna did not care about family politics, not so long as she married someone with a good fortune who could spoil her rotten. Myrcella, on the other hand, cared a great deal. It was true that her Uncle Renly was a fool, and by right it should have been her Uncle Stannis who was Lord Protector until Joffrey came of age, but the tides had turned and Renly had been the only male heir remaining - the last of the York glory. She was certain that all of his wisdom came from his young wife, Margaery Tyrell, who had been one of the finest prizes in England. Her uncle had always considered himself a dandy, and there were always the rumours, which she dared not speak out loud.

“Hush, Joanna. I have no patience for your vanity today,” Cersei snapped, dismissing her daughter with a wave of her hand.

“Do you think he will be kind to me, Mama?” Myrcella asked quietly, when she was certain that neither Roslin or Joanna could hear. She did not wish to be ridiculed any more than she had been.

“If he values his position he will,” Cersei warned, taking her daughter’s arm to lead her away from the watchful guards that had been sent to bring the Dowager Queen Cersei and her daughters to court. “You are the beloved Princess, my doe, and there are many who would call for this Stark boy’s head if he should harm you. He staked his claim for England on you, you are of great value to him. Make sure you remind him of that.” With a nod of assurance at her, Cersei moved to assist her other two daughters. Myrcella clutched the rosary around her neck for a moment, saying a silent prayer before she joined the remaining members of her family.

It did not take long for them to finish packing away their possessions, and the King’s guards were most insistent that they pack with haste. Theon Greyjoy, an sailors son and upstart, was ordering around as though she were no better than a servant. Myrcella suppressed her unfavourable words, but she made a mental note to remember his name and the carelessness with which he addressed her. Had he forgotten that she was still a princess?  

“If you have quite finished tapping your foot, my family and I are ready to depart. Have the horses been saddled?” Myrcella asked, voice toned with authority. She would not cower. She was the daughter of Robert Baratheon who was beloved by England, and in London where she would marry Robb Stark, there were many Yorkists.

The journey to London was slow, but she was grateful for it. It allowed her to think, to steady her nerves and remember that she was doing her duty for the good of her people. She was in a position of power and with that came sacrifices.

It was easy to block out the thoughtless chatter of her sisters, who were sat on the other side of the carriage. Her mother’s hand remained on her own, but her features betrayed no emotions. When needed, Cersei Lannister was a Queen of stone.

Night fell and all along the Thames, small beacons of light guided the travelling party towards Westminster Palace, where the King was undoubtedly waiting for her. It gave her a small spark of satisfaction to know that she had kept him waiting longer than he intended.

When the carriage doors opened, it was the King’s own mother who greeted them, “My lady, the King’s mother,” she greeted out of politeness, rather than due respect. She knew little of Catelyn Stark, other than that she had pushed her son to claim his birthright and set a war upon her kingdom. “We had expected you much sooner, Princess Myrcella. You missed the wedding of my brother Edmure, and his new bride Margaery, former wife to the pretender King Renly.” The smugness which she felt earlier from causing her betrothed to wait had abated, she was left with her own disappointment upon missing Margaery’s wedding - she was a dear friend, and Myrcella would have liked to have been there for support.

“Despite the late hour, the King is still awake and wishes to meet you, although most of the court has already retired, drunk from the merriment of such an occasion.” Another jibe. She wondered if Catelyn was intentionally trying to provoke her. “Your mother may come too, in order to chaperone you.”

The two golden haired Lannister’s walked in silence down the corridor, following Catelyn stark as she headed towards the King’s chambers, which had once housed her father and then later, her Uncle Renly. She knew that there was an interconnecting door to the Queen’s chambers, a fact which caused her to shiver. Only a door would separate them this night, and once they were married, Myrcella knew that he would be most valliant in his efforts to produce an heir - his rule depended upon it.

The chamber door was opened and they walked in, and for the first time she could put a face to the legend. Robb Stark was as they said, quite handsome with his sapphire eyes and dark auburn hair, but he looked at her so coldly that she was certain she would freeze. “Princess Myrcella,” he greeted, tone rigid and vacant. “Forgive the lack of ceremony at your arrival, we had prepared a grand entrance, but the bards are too far into their cups to play a merry tune.” She knew that he was being sarcastic, it made her blood boil.

“No need. Since the hour is late and I myself feel weary, I request to retire. Might we resume our meeting in the morning, your majesty?” she enquired with as much politeness as she could muster.

“Robb…” his mother went to interject, but the King held up his hand to silence her. “Have the servants show Princess Myrcella to her chambers, we shall speak in the morrow.”

 

**DAENERYS, ROYAL DUCHESS OF CLARENCE**

**CHÂTEAU DE LA FROGERIE, PERMANENT RESIDENCE OF VISERYS, COMTE DE POITOU.**

It had been months since she had seen her husband. Every letter which she received from him carried warmth to her heart, while she clutched her infant son to her chest. Daenerys had entered her confinement while her husband and his cousin, the Lancastrian King Robb, began their assault on England, in hopes of reclaiming the birthright of their late great-uncle, who died a hostage in the tower.

The labour had come earlier than expected, but she was fretting with worry and it was no surprise that her son decided to greet the world sooner. He was small but strong, and she was hopelessly in love with him. The bliss which she felt over the arrival of her son was somewhat marred by the fears which she held over Jon’s safety.

She had never stepped on English soil, so she knew little of what to expect. Her mother had been the daughter of the English Ambassador in France, who married a Compte and thus lived the rest of her life in France. It had been a rise for Rhaella, but Daenerys had found herself elevated even further still. It was chance which saw her happen upon Sir Jon Dayne, who had a terribly glum expression on his face and she endeavoured to make him smile. Her mother always said that she had the sort of face which made men spill all their darkest secrets, and soon she knew everything of his cousin’s claim to the English throne and his fears that they would never again see England. Both had been under the guardianship of his father Arthur Dayne, who feigned loyalty to the Yorkist royals in order to keep the remaining members of his family safe. He was there until the very end, and he marched beside his son and nephew to reclaim England. She did not often cry, but tears fell when she heard of his death in battle on Bosworth field. Her beloved Jon had already lost so many: siblings that were never born, his dear mother Lyanna, his Uncle Eddard, his grandfather, people whom he could never replace and thus carried the burden of that loss.

With baby Arthur clutched within her grasp, she waited with baited breath for Jon to arrive. She so longed to see him, to join him in England so that they could continue their lives together. Her brother, Viserys, Comte de Poitou, was full of envy that she out ranked him in every way - she could not wait to escape his jealous gaze. She often heard his wife sobbing at night, Daenerys knew that she was not treated well.  

“Your husband will be here soon, madame,” her brother’s wife spoke excitedly, her thick French accent rolling off the tongue with ease. She had been teaching Doreah to speak English, since her own mother had pressed the importance of her children knowing something of their heritage. Daenerys always had a talent for languages, while her brother had struggled, but was certainly too proud to admit it, or seek assistance.

“Yes, he shall be here soon,” she responded with a steady voice, sapphire eyes drifting down to look at her son’s similarly hued gaze. It would be the first time that they had seen each other since the war, it would be the first time that Jon was meeting his son. It was not a rare sight to see Doreah looking forlorn, as she watched both Daenerys and Arthur, it was clear that the woman desperately yearned to have a child and despite the seven years of marriage between Viserys and Doreah, their efforts had proved fruitless.

The frantic sound of horse hooves hitting the paving outside struck her attention, and she rushed from the room, baby in her arms and let out a cry of joy. Jon, her beloved, was here for her. He ran towards her, cupping behind her neck to press a searing kiss to her lips, “My love,” he groaned against her lips.

Tears bloomed in her eyes, and she frantically tried to blink them away. She watched as Jon stepped back slightly so that he could bow his head towards his son. Never before had she seen Jon’s features so soft, there was not an ounce of pain in his face as he took his son into his own arms, whispering the name Arthur. Ever since she had given birth, that was all that she had wanted, all that she had waited for.

“Come inside, my white wolf,” she motioned to him, holding out her hand to him. Jon balanced Arthur in the crook of his arm, and used his free hand to take her own. “I am certain that we have much to discuss before we depart for England.” The contentment on Jon’s face vanished, replace with one of conflict. Her own dear husband who worried too much. She was grateful that her brother was away and Doreah had found it appropriate to leave the room, so that they could discuss things in private.

“I have missed you,” Daenerys admitted, perching on one of the chaises. He nodded glumly at her, taking the vacant space beside her.

“It was a horrible as you would expect. Bloody and relentless,” Jon sighed, stroking Arthur’s head. The infant did not have a lot of hair, but you could see that it was dark in colour like his father’s. She wondered if it would curl in the same way too, as his own mother’s had before him. “Losing my father was the darkest day and then I feared that I would never meet my child, never get to see what our love has created.” Daenerys knew little of war, but she heard the reports and they sounded God forsaken. It was no wonder that her husband looked as those he were haunted by ghosts.

“You are here now, my love. We are safe,” she assured him, truly hoping that the battle was over for good. Experiencing one war was hard enough for Daenerys. “How does Robb fare?” she enquired, relinquishing any need to use his title. They were not speaking publicly, and she had come to know him well.

“It is not an easy job which he is tasked with. While this may be our families birthright, I do believe that it has already taken its toll on him. He has grown paranoid, and fears that a rebellion is almost certain. Until he has married Princess Myrcella and has ensured loyalty, I do believe that he will continue to fret,” Jon expressed his concern and Daenerys listened with an open mind. They were fortunate to have been allowed the convenience of love in a marriage, but Robb was duty bound to marry the Princess.  
“It would be better if Jeyne did not travel with me to England, it will only torment the King more,” she cautioned, referring to her ladies maid who had developed a reciprocated fondness for Robb. The Westerling girl was better off continuing to serve Doreah, Daenerys could fill her household with other ladies that would not seek to distract the King and tempt him towards another pass.

Reluctantly, Jon nodded at her. “In any case, Robb and Myrcella may grow to like one another. The least that you and I can do, is try to make sure that we extract any vipers from court.”

Jon pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, “I shall be guided by you.”  She almost let out an unladylike snort, her stubborn husband was not so easily guided, persuasion was always needed - but he always trusted her.

“We shall devise a plan when we sail tomorrow,” Daenerys added, watching her husband rock their son gently. She needed to make sure that England was a safe and secure place for her family.

**MARGAERY, DUCHESS OF SUFFOLK**

**PRIVATE APARTMENTS OF WESTMINSTER PALACE**

“Forgive me, I did not realise,” Edmure apologised in a flustered manner to her. He was stood beside the bed almost fully clothed and she noticed that he was scanning the bedsheets and the blood which stained them. Her cheeks coloured, but she forced herself not to shy away from his gaze. The consummation had not been unpleasant, but he had not been as gentle as she might have hoped for in the beginning. She could not blame him for thinking that she was without her virtue, she had been married to Renly for some time before the battle, back when she was Queen of England. In truth, Margaery had done most of the ruling for him, he rather liked the vanity of being King, but the responsibility did not suit him.

“How could you have known, your grace? I shall not speak ill of the dead, but my former husband could not find it within himself to commit to the act. It must be soothing to your ego, I imagine, to know that you are my first true husband.”  Despite her words, she noticed the way her auburn haired husband’s hands clenched at the mention of her former husband. Poor Renly, he was so hated in death, that alone would have been enough for him to relinquish his titles if he had known that the history books would not treat him kindly.

If they were married under different terms, she might have been more quick to console Edmure’s pride, but it would have seemed too false - even by her own standards. When she had asked Lady Catelyn of Lord Edmure’s nature, she had responded saying that he was good natured, but hot headed. “I expect that you will share this knowledge with the King? He will be pleased, I am sure. It all but nullifies my former marriage, since it was never consummated and will surely silence my noble family,” she commented, slipping from the bed to pull a thick robe over her nude form. There were marks on her hips from where he had gripped her, his body rocking against in her in a way which allowed the residual pain of her virtue to ebb away.

Margery felt her cheeks heating once more as she recalled the private moments with her husband, and then promptly tightened the belt around her robe.

“Indeed, my lady, but I shall tell him no more than I need to. Make sure that your ladies do not wash the linens, just in case the King demands proof of this - although, I expect that my word will be enough. I am his uncle after all.” There was pride in her husband’s voice, he loved to tell people that he was the King’s uncle, it made him feel all the more glorious. She nodded and watched him pull on his boots.

“Forgive my idelecacy, they say that Princess Myrcella has arrived at court, Is it true?” Margaery enquired with a raised brow, arms folding over her chest.  “Yes, my pretty wife, that is true,” Edmund replied, nodding his head at her in a silent goodbye at her, as he left the apartments.

Once he was gone, Margaery disrobed and walked over to the looking glass, so that she might further analyse the marks from her husband - she had heard that whores often bore such marks of affection, but not wives. Her mother always said it was a quick task, that she would be merely stuck with a prick and all that she had to do was lie there for a few minutes. “How queer,” she muttered, tracing the marks on the sides of her breasts.

She did not flinch when her ladies maids came in to find her analysing her body, she was not shy with her appearance and was accustomed to her ladies seeing her naked form, since they helped her to dress and bathe often. Through the mirror, she watched as one of her ladies glanced over the bedsheets with a confused expression, Margaery could guess what the young girl was thinking. “My husband asks that you do not wash those sheets, only replace them. We may have need of the linens, so make sure you store them safely,” Margaery ordered, walking over to her closet full of gowns. “The green gown?” she asked, pulling it her body. “Princess Myrcella has arrived, so we must look our best ladies.”

When she exited her chambers, the Duchess felt a rise of excitement within her. She had come to know the Princess quite well, and in private referred to her only as Ella, Margaery hoped that she could offer guidance to the younger girl, especially if the Queen Mother tried to seperate the Dowager Queen Cersei and Princess Myrcella from one another.

Despite the fact that her head was no longer adorned by the crown jewels, people still stopped to look at her - she was still one of England’s biggest prizes, and her husband was an envied man.

She saw a group of golden haired ladies which certainly contained Myrcella. At once she extended her arms with delight, “Princess Myrcella,” she greeted with delight, the jade toned fabric which billowed from her arms rippling as she moved to sweep the younger girl into her arms - Margaery was merely a couple of summers older, and thus styled herself as Ella’s older sister. “Will you take a turn around the gardens with me?” Margaery enquired, glancing over at the remaining members of Myrcella’s family - who had never liked her very well, especially Cersei. The fair-haired Princess nodded and moved to walk beside her. Both women walked elegantly, hands clasped neatly over their gowns as they entered the well-groomed gardens - something which she was pleased to see had been maintained after she was shifted from her position as queen. Thousands of roses grew in the gardens, red and white.

“Have you met the young wolf?” Margaery enquired, smirking at the title which had been bestowed upon the King. He was older than her, but younger than Renly, so people naturally called him the Young King. Some might have sneered it, in hopes of pointing his obvious inexperience. He was still trying to construct a formidable privy council, Margaery hoped that through Edmure she would have some influence.

“He was cold,” Myrcella sighed in response, forcing a pitiful nod from Margaery.

“It is not uncommon. He will come to adore you, to value you above all, and then my sweet you will truly won the war,” she promised. She plucked two roses, one of red and the other of white. She held both out to Myrcella, “You are the peace to silence this warring kingdom.”

She placed her hand over Myrcella’s, “We all have our part to play. I hope that we continue to confide in one another, little doe. We women must stick together.”


	2. Suspicion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting this note on each of my stories, to get the message across. No matter what happens in the final episode, I will continue to write all three of my stories. As far as I’m concerned, this final season of Game of Thrones doesn’t exist. I would be quite content remembering Jon and Daenerys on the boat, or beyond the wall by the waterfall. No matter what happens in the final episode, I will always love Jonerys and will continue to support both characters. It’s not their fault they’ve been written so poorly in this final season and I won’t let the toxic vision of D&D ruin it for me.
> 
> Also, this chapter is Jonerys heavy because I needed it. But it will be more evenly split between the three POVs going forward. 

**NOVEMBER 1485**

 

**MYRCELLA, PRINCESS OF YORK**

**WESTMINSTER PALACE.**

****

The summons from King Robb did not come as quickly as she had anticipated, given the excuses which she had formed the night before to extract herself from his cold presence. It was almost a shock to her that the Queen’s rooms had been prepared for her since she half expected him to house her elsewhere in the castle, a defiant act against their arranged union. But even as her newly appointed ladies maids, Lancastrian loyalists and undoubted spies, lay on pallets around her bed, she was not met with sleep that night. Her thoughts were consumed by the singular door which separated them. It would have been all too easy for the King to enter her chambers if he desired. She supposed that he must have had more honour than that.

It was only after she had broken her fast and walked with Margaery in the gardens, that she was once again guided towards his private chambers. Those loyal to Robb looked at her with contempt, while those who had once supported Renly and before him, her father, held pity in their gaze. No one dared speak with her openly, for fear of upsetting their new king. No one, that is, except her beloved Margaery. She always considered herself to have an intimate circle of close friends, which her sisters Joanna and Roslin were not privy to. Margaery Tyrell, Leonette Fossoway and Shireen Baratheon were her closest friends. She already had one of them at court, but she hoped to gain the other two.

It was not a long walk to the King’s chambers and did not allow her a lot of time to prepare herself. Without the imposing figure of her mother by her side, Myrcella felt more vulnerable. But just because she was sweet, did not mean that she was soft.

The ladies who accompanied her, ladies loyal to Catelyn Stark, watched her carefully as she walked towards the door of King’s private chambers.

The page outside nodded his head respectfully towards her, before announcing her arrival to the King. It had been a couple of years since her father had died, but she could still remember his delight every time she would visit him. Myrcella had always been his favourite child, more so that he volatile brother Joff or her selfish sisters.

“Your majesty,” she acknowledged stiffly, collapsing into a lacklustre curtsy. She was known for her elegance and grace, but she had no intention of making life easy for her betrothed. “You asked to see me.”

“Does that surprise you?” he asked, brow raised. He was stood from his chair at the top of the long table, where an array of documents covered every inch of the dark wood.

“Nothing surprises me anymore,” she responded dully. Myrcella crossed her arms over chest, making it apparent that she was not going to treat him warmly. Myrcella felt as though at the happiness in her life had been pulled away, and she was left to pick up the pieces. The safety of her family depended upon her, but her ungrateful sisters did not see that. They liked to pick and pick at her, but she would show them that she was not a weak girl that they could torment, and Robb certainly didn’t frighten her.

“You could act more courteous, Myrcella. I’m saving you.” She knew that her apathy towards him was maddening for him.

“You need me,” she answered in a clipped tone. “You rested your entire claim to England on marrying me. Without me, you’re nothing.”

He surged forward and gripped her by the arm, anger rolling off him. He’d tensed his shoulders, and his face had scrunched up.

“Never betray me. I may not be able to dispose of you, but you have a mother whose head I could still demand,” Robb murmured against her ear, his body far too close to be acceptable.

She tugged her arm from his grip, pushing him away.

“I should like my cousin Shireen to join my household. She has lived upon the generosity of my family for some time now since her own parents died, and I would like to have her close,” Myrcella demanded, ignoring his threat. She knew that her mother could take care of herself. Cersei Lannister had more than proven herself over the years. But she was also not foolish enough to underestimate Robb. He had won the throne from her uncle, he had fought and fought until the crown was on his head. She wondered what that did to a man.

“Any more demands?” Robb had moved away from her, and stalked back over to the table to grab his mug of ale.

“Plenty.” Myrcella decided not to elaborate, but instead voiced the only question which truly mattered to her. “When will we be married?”

“Once my cousin and his wife have arrived in England, we shall be married.”

She turned then, having no interest to continue the conversation. Myrcella vowed to not make their marriage easy for him, even though she knew her duty. She would not bend easily to his will, and he would certainly not break her.

**MARGAERY, DUCHESS OF SUFFOLK**

**WESTMINSTER PALACE**

****

“My daughter has been married to an upstart who formerly held no title, but we are now forced to address him as the Duke of Suffolk. If this Wolf King wanted to make peace with our family, he ought to have made Margaery his queen,” her father huffed, arms folded over his portly figure to further express the indignation that the Duke of Buckingham felt, a title bestowed to him upon Renly’s appointment as king. Margaery knew that it was only for practicalities sake that he had not been stripped of those titles. Her family held a lot of sway over the people of England, and she was still beloved by many.

“For heaven’s sake, Mace. Sit down. You have fewer wits that your father and believe me, my dear boy, that is rather saying something” her grandmother commented sharply. For a moment she did not whether to chastise her grandmother or laugh at the comment which was, unfortunately for her father, extremely accurate. The Tyrell’s had prospered over the years, but that was a direct result of Olenna’s savviness. “Margaery may be our golden rose, but it was white that the king required to win the war. By marrying the Princess Myrcella, he eliminates the possibility of a Yorkist rebellion speaking out in favour of Myrcella's leadership, as opposed to his own.”

“Surely, they would speak for Margaery. She was their beloved Queen,” Mace countered, speaking as though she not even there - something which her father had a terrible habit of, even when the crown jewels did adorn her head.

“No. The marriage was not consummated and Renly put no babe in her belly. It is not her birthright to be queen. No, we must play with the cards which we have been dealt and have patience while we wait.”

“Wait for what, grandmother?” Margaery enquired.

“The cards to be stacked in our favour.” Before she could question her grandmother further, the chamber door swung open and Edmure stood beneath the frame. Her red-haired husband was an imposing figure, but she guessed soft-bellied enough for her to eventually sink her claws into.

“Lord Suffolk,” her father greeted through clenched teeth, the absence of respect evident in her father’s tense tone. She imagined that Edmure did not look upon her father’s distaste favourably. Her husband was a proud man and appeared to care a great deal about his vanity within court.

“Lord Buckingham,” Edmure responds. His words are courteous enough, but she knows that his green eyes sweep over them all with suspicion. He doesn't love her enough yet. It’s certainly not enough to protect her from the King’s wrath. “May I speak with my wife alone?” her husband asked, although there was little room to argue. Her grandmother gave her a pointed look, while all members of her family stood to depart from her outer chambers.

“That is one way to empty a room,” she commented, when it was just the two of them.

“I have something to ask of you,” he announced, taking one of the vacant seats. He bent towards her, closing the gap between them. “My nephew, the King, has asked something of us and you will do it without complaint.” She inclines her head towards him, stifling a smile at his attempts of being a controlling husband. He’s not as pig headed as her own father, but Edmure’s vanity and eagerness to please his nephew often got in the way of any cunning or shrewdness. Fortunately, she had more than enough for the both of them.

“And what is that, dear husband?” she enquired. She filled two goblets of wine, pushing one towards him as he seemed to mull over his request for a moment. He was clearly not fond of it, but he did his best to not let it show - she was just very good at reading people.

“King Robb has asked that you report back on Myrcella. He knows that the two of you are close and she will tell you things, he wants to know what those things are.”

“It is more than a little ask, husband. To betray the confidence of our soon-to-be Queen,” she gasps theatrically, before rising from her chair to pace the room. “And if I should refuse?”

“I think the King would make your life at court very difficult.” She raised an eyebrow in amusement at her husband, before shrugging. Let the wolf king try. Her family was far more powerful and beloved than his own, many would stand up against him if she was caused any harm.

“The King must have a suspicious mind. No doubt, the King’s mother is fueling those concerns.” Edmure looked uncomfortable then, Catelyn was his older sister after all. “I mean no offence to your family, Edmure. They are right to be suspicious. Many will plot their downfall and they must be vigilant.”

“My nephew is beloved, he…” She moved across the room to place her arms on his own, a sympathetic smile on his face. “Edmure, do not be naive. You love your nephew, but we are not yet in times of peace. It will take a long time for England to settle.”

Margaery had not yet decided where her loyalties lay. She held no interest in being a pawn in anyone’s game, including her fathers. He had already pushed her into a marriage with Renly and forced a crown atop her head, she could deal without his ambition. But that did not mean she was content to merely be a lady of leisure in King Robb’s court. No, she needed to play her own game.

She went to speak again but was interrupted by the sound of bells ringing.

“What are the bells for?”

 

**DAENERYS, DUCHESS OF CLARENCE**

**THE ENGLISH CHANNEL.**

 

She was glad of her strong stomach. The winds had picked up and the boat rocked violently with the waves, while rain pelted down on the deck. Daenerys sat across from her husband, who was nursing a mug of ale. Soft whimpers came from her son, as she held him close to her chest, to ease the motions of their journey.

“I fear for Robb,” Jon murmurs, swallowing a large gulp of ale. She knew her husband had been weary ever since the siege and his care for his cousin made him worrisome.

“The crown is a heavy burden to bear for anyone. Even one whom God has chosen to reclaim his birthright,” Daenerys counters, stretching her free arm over the short table to lie on Jon’s hand. “His suspicion is not madness, but it can fester and we must prevent that. He needs to be surrounded by those he can trust. You must always be his confidante, my love.”

The brotherhood between Robb and Jon had never been tested before, but Daenerys knew that politics could destroy even the closest bond. A part of her feared Robb’s reaction when he discovered that she had left Jeyne in her brother’s household, instead of bringing the handmaiden with her. It was a much too dangerous relationship, and Robb needed to show his devotion to the Princess Myrcella, or all was lost.

Daenerys motions for the wet nurse to collect Arthur. “Sleep well, my angel,” she murmured against his head, pressing a kiss to his head. She allowed her son to be transferred in the stocky woman’s arms.

Until Robb had a son, Jon would be his heir and Arthur after him. She didn’t like to think of the consequences of a childless king, and what it meant for her family. She never spoke of such treason, not even to Jon. He would be horrified to know she had thought of the King’s death. But it was not that she coveted it, for she feared it more than anything. The court was dangerous enough for her family, without putting a crown on her husband’s head.

When the door to the cabin closed, Daenerys rose from her chair and manoeuvred her way around the table. The storm had eased up a little and made the movements less cumbersome.

She lowered herself onto Jon’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, her head resting against the side of his own. Her breaths were relaxed, and she was comforted by his presence. She longed to share so many moments with him, after being parted for months. Her heart sung every time that she saw him, even when she was mad at him. Dany knew how lucky she was to marry for love, it was such a rarity among nobles.

“I love you,” Jon murmured, hands holding her body close to his own. “I’m so lucky to have you.” She smiled then, shaking away the dread which she felt in the pit of her stomach.

Jon craned his neck to kiss her, capturing her lips with his own. She sighed, melting against his body as his hands slid up her back. The last time they had been intimate was before Arthur’s birth when her stomach was rounded and he was due to set sail for England the next day.

Jon had taken her virtue before they were married, although he was quick to remedy that sin. From the moment they had met one another, there had been something unspoken between them. At first, Daenerys had tried to deny it, since her brother looked upon Jon so disfavorably. But that was when he was an exile. Now, her brother envied her husband for the wealth of titles he possessed and the fortune of his future.

“Are you healed?” Jon murmured against her lips. She hummed in response, rocking her hips over his own. Desire and need for him flooded every inch of her, and she was reminded of just how much she missed his touch. Dany’s hands anchored Jon’s face, as they became more consumed with one another. She barely noticed his hands at her back undoing the laces of her gown, not until it was falling from her shoulders, exposing the white chemise and pale blue corset beneath. She knew that he grew frustrated by her layers. Once, he had taken a knife to her corset and cut it from her body.

She pulled at his doublet as he rose from the chair, scooping his arms beneath her arse so that he could carry her across the cabin towards the bed. His beard scratched her face, but she didn’t mind, it was just another reminder that he was there with her.

They continued to remove their clothes until there was nothing left, just him and her. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured, while her fingers traced his chest. There were new marks, scars which weren’t there before the war. They reminded her of what she had to lose.

Jon pressed kisses against her breasts, taking them in her hands. They were a little bigger than before, a result of her pregnancy. But she was a highborn lady, and therefore did not feed Arthur from her own breast, that’s what a wet nurse was for.

“Jon,” she gasped, as he flicked his tongue over her nipple, and squeezed her breasts in his hands. Her hips moved of their own accord, gyrating against the mattress. She was desperate to be filled, Daenerys wanted to be completely consumed by Jon. He grinned at her wolfishly, and kissed a path down her body, past her navel until his head was caught between her thighs.

“It’s been too long since I’ve tasted your nectar.” His breath was hot against her mound, and she waited in anticipation, while he kept her in suspense. She felt his tongue flick over the seam of her lower lips, and she let out a moan which she caught with her hand. Daenerys bit down on the side of her finger to staunch her moans, the walls of the cabin were certainly thin and she didn’t need the whole boat to know what they were doing. She felt the way he swirled his tongue around her clit, teasing the bundle of nerves until her legs shook. Jon pushed a finger inside of her and groaned before adding another. His movements were slow at her first, teasing her until she was on the brink of euphoria. She gasps, her breathing grew heavier, and she keened off the bed, back arching as he sped up his movements.

Daenerys gripped the sheets as a cry of relief tore from her lips, waves of pleasure crashing down on her as she came around his fingers, body shaking from the aftershocks. “I’ve missed that,” she gasped, pushing strands of hair away from her face with a shaking hand.

Jon grinned up at her once again and then climbed back up her body. His cock rested against her belly, and she reached between them to stroke the head, teasing it. He groaned, biting her lip as his fingers made impressions against her arms.

He rolled over so that she was sat astride him. Daenerys loved to ride her husband, to feel the indentations of his hands on her hips.

She gripped his cock, centring against her so that she could lower herself down to the hilt. Daenerys went slowly until she was completely filled by him. Daenerys remained motionless for a moment, as she became accustomed to his size. 

Her hips began to rotate as she found her rhythm, taking pleasure from his body. She bent forward, curls brushing against his chest as she kissed him once again. She swallowed his moans, as she continued to rock against his body. Once again the low burning fire started to claim her body, while sweat beaded down her back and Jon’s grip on her body grew stronger. Jon thrust up to meet her, their bodies moving in sync.

Their lovemaking grew more frantic, and he started to push her down, slamming her down against his hips until she was at his mercy, malleable to his will. “Yes,” she gasped, moaning in pleasure.

Her fingers clenched his shoulders, and she cried against his neck as a cloud of white passed over eyes. She came again and tugged at his own release. Jon came with a heavy grown, emptying his seed inside her as his hips continued to rock, riding out his release.

She collapsed against him, head on his chest. Jon pulled his arms around her, hugging her body to his own as both drifted off, spent from their carnal activities.

Daenerys awoke to the sound of a knock on the cabin door. “My Lord, Lady, we’re ready to make port,” the soft voice called, which caused her to groan. She was excited to start her new life in England, but she would have been content to stay in bed with Jon a little longer. “Send for my ladies maids,” she called back in response.

She tugged her body from Jon’s embrace, and he made a noise of dissatisfaction. “You need to get up,” she ordered.

Daenerys dipped a linen cloth into the basin of water, using it to wipe behind her neck, arms and between her legs before she then pulled on her chemise once again. In the mirror, she could see that she looked thoroughly devoured. She wondered if God judged her greatly for the pleasures she found in her husband. Probably. But she did not much care.

As they descended from the ship on the Thames, Daenerys was met by a ghastly smell. “What is it?” she asked, turning to Jon who was beside her.

His brow creased in concern before he caught her arm. “It’s vinegar. We must get inside quickly, there is sickness in the streets.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> That's the first chapter finished! I hope that you enjoyed. Please leave Feedback, Kudos, Favourite, let me know what you think and if I should continue with this brain-child of mine.


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